“What’s going on?” Brock demands the moment his face shows up on the Skype screen.

Ethan and their girlfriend Camila pop in behind him, worried looks on their faces.

“Pearson business,” Hayden snaps, shooing off the other two with a flick of his wrist.

Nobody corrects Hayden and says Trevor isn’t a Pearson, and that’s fine by me. Trevor was always like a brother to my dad. He can stay for what I’m about to say. If anything, it makes me feel closer to my dad.

“I’ll meet you guys down at the beach later,” he tells them both. When they’re gone, he turns to regard us with a frown. “What’s going on?”

“Camden has to tell you all something,” Nixon says.

I let out a huff of resignation. “When I was a kid, around the time Mom left, Marshall Beckett abused me.”

“Almost,” Nixon corrects. “He fucking tried, but we took care of it.”

“He what?” Hayden growls.

“It’s why it’s a bad idea for him to fuck Marshall Beckett’s daughter,” Nixon explains.

“You’re fucking Poppy?” Brock asks, clueless until now. “She’s hot.”

“Back up to the part where you said her fucking dad hurt you,” Hayden snarls.

“Almost—” Nixon starts again.

“Shut up,” I hiss, fury blazing through me. “Just shut the fuck up.”

Nixon, my best friend and protective older brother, gapes at me as though I’ve killed his dog, until he starts clicking the pieces into place. “No.”

I grit my teeth. “Yes. Nixon walked in on Marshall doing some sick shit and scared him away.”

“I tried to tell Mom,” Nixon chokes out. “She…”

We all know what happened after that. She ran off anyway. Ran off and ended up dead, buried in our neighbor’s yard.

“I’m going to kill him,” Hayden growls.

“You and me both,” Trevor hisses.

Brock mutters, “Fuck,” over and over again.

I straighten my back. “He was a sick fuck. He came back.” My eyes bore into Nixon’s. “He came back plenty. And then, one time, he made me want to die.”

Hayden rises from the sofa and starts pacing. “I will destroy him.” His rage matches that of our father. I love Hayden. Seeing him like Dad all those years ago makes me love him even more. Hayden has been here for me acting as a father figure since Dad died, and I appreciate that more than he will ever know.

“Who fucking does that to a kid?” Brock demands. “What kind of sick fuck does that?”

Trevor trembles with fury, his teeth grinding to dust as he barely keeps from exploding.

“An asshole who is going to die,” Nixon says coldly. “He will fucking die for this.”

I reach over and clutch Nixon’s shoulder. “You’re married, man. You have Rowan and Erica and a baby on the way. Don’t go getting stupid on me.”

“Rowan’s pregnant?” Brock asks.

“Maybe show up more than twice a year and you can keep up with the family,” Hayden snarls.

I stand and walk over to Hayden to grip his shoulders. “Calm down.”

“Me?” Hayden roars. “Me calm down? How the hell can I calm down knowing what happened to you? I’m going to ruin him!”

I turn and look them each in the eye. “Marshall Beckett is why I’ve wanted to go into politics since everyone can remember. Dad said if someone hurts a Pearson, you break them. I’ve spent my entire life working on a plan to break him.”

“Eric knew?” Trevor demands.

“No,” I tell him. “He knew something happened, but I didn’t tell him. Marshall had me scared. He took advantage of a scared little boy and I believed his threats. But now…now I know better. I know I hold all the cards.”

“Poppy,” Nixon breathes. “You’re going to…what? Fuck with her just to fuck with him?”

It’s more complicated than that.

“It started as that, yes. I wanted to use her to get me meetings with Marshall and his fuckface friends. I wanted to get in and let them know I have shit on them.”

“What kind of shit?” Trevor probes.

“The kind of shit that gets grown men thrown in prison for life.” My friend Cronk dug up enough dirt on them to bury them forever.

“What are we waiting for? Why toy with Poppy?” Hayden asks. “Why aren’t we taking this shit to the police and making him pay?”

“Because I want to see the look on his face when I tell him he’s fucked. I want to look him square in the eyes and make him feel like a piece of shit. I want to tell him I’ve defiled his daughter like he defiled me. I want to destroy him. Smear him. Run his name across every tabloid before sending him off to prison.” My chest heaves with fury. “I want to ask him why.”

Nixon scowls. “Because he’s a sick fuck, that’s why.”

“I just need to see what sort of bullshit excuse he gives me,” I utter softly. “I just need to hear it.”

“He won’t apologize,” Nixon warns.

“I don’t want an apology,” I snap. “You can’t say sorry and make that shit go away. I don’t want it to go away. It’s built the man I am today. I want him to see that. To realize he created the very beast that will tear his proverbial throat out. I just need that meeting. Then I’ll send what Cronk dug up to the FBI and let them do the rest.”

“It’ll ruin Poppy too,” Nixon tells me. “You know that.”

I hate that my brother always reads me better than anyone else. He knows I like her. What started out as a revenge plan has evolved into me actually fucking liking her.

“So I’ll ruin her.” I shoot him a hard glare. “It was always the plan.”

“Sometimes plans change,” he mutters.

“You do realize,” Trevor says slowly, “when the media gets a hold of this, it’ll expose all the bad stuff that happened to you. The reporters will pick and pick and pick at that wound. Are you ready for that?”

“A true leader shows what kind of man he is by how he handles the bad situations. I’m fully prepared to face this head on. I’ve thought about this for a long time. The actual events that happened feel like a bad dream. But making him pay is a reality. I want it more than my next breath. I’ll take whatever the media throws at me. Then I’ll move on with my life and make my way to the fucking White House where I belong.”

“Well, okay then,” Trevor huffs. “Tell us what we can do to help.”

“We get him that motherfucking meeting,” Nixon growls. He turns to me and pierces me with an intense look of fierce love and protectiveness—the same look he gives our little sister and his wife, Rowan. “I will get you that meeting, brother.”

* * *

Poppy: Lady Vindicta.

Her text was sent late last night, and I squint against the morning sun to reread it. I was supposed to pick her up from her apartment.

Me: On my way.

“I’m going to be a big sister,” Erica tells me proudly as she stabs at her pancakes. She doesn’t quite understand her family dynamics yet, and no one corrects her. Hell, it’s almost too complicated for us to understand, much less explain to a young girl.

“I heard, little bit.” I walk over to her and kiss the top of her head. “When are your parents going to bring you on the boat? I got you a pink Minnie Mouse fishing pole.”

She squeals and starts begging Rowan to take her today.

“Today I have plans, but maybe next weekend,” I tell her.

“Next weekend works better,” Rowan says. “Remember, Aunt Lucy and Aunt Katie are taking us shopping today.”

“I want to go fishing,” Erica pouts.

“I thought you wanted to go to the Disney store.” Rowan raises a brow at her.

Poor kid looks positively torn. I save her from her misery.

“If you go shopping with Mommy today and go fishing next weekend, then you get to do both. You don’t have to choose.” I wink at her, and she grins. “See you ladies next week.”

I feel lighter during the drive to the marina. Getting that load off my chest to my brothers and Trevor was oddly a relief. I knew tempers and emotions would flare, but we got through it. We’re Pearsons, after all. We get through everything—as long as we do it together.

I park and make it out to where my yacht sits. When I step inside, there’s a trail of Poppy’s mess and it warms me. I like her mess all over my things. She’s still in bed when I get below deck, so I undress completely and slide beneath the covers beside her. I brush her hair away from her sleeping face and stare at her.

I’m going to make a mess of our lives.

As soon as I get that meeting with her dad, all hell will break loose. She’ll be forced to choose. And my girl isn’t brave. She won’t choose me. She’ll choose him. He’s her dad. Not to mention, I’ll be the reason her political career will be destroyed.

Guilt, an unfamiliar emotion, plagues me.

I don’t care.

This was always the plan.

Her eyes flutter open, and the striking blue glimmers at seeing me. It makes my heart thunder in my chest.

I do care.

Fuck.

“Hey,” I rumble.

She leans forward and kisses my lips. “Hey.”

“Miss me?”

When she doesn’t respond, I pull away to look at her. Her features crumble before my eyes as an ugly sob makes her entire body tremble.

“Baby,” I murmur. “What’s wrong?”

She clings to my chest and presses her face to my flesh. Her tears soak my skin as she cries. I stroke her hair, my nerves threatening to give me an anxiety attack.

When her sobs die down, I push her onto her back again. She winces as though she’s physically in pain. I rain kisses down all over her face. I’m not sure what the fuck is wrong with her, but I’ve never seen her so broken. It unnerves me.

“Tell me what to fix,” I murmur.

“I’m sorry.”

I cock my head to the side and study her features. Her cheeks are red and tearstained. Her nostrils flare with each ragged breath she takes. She’s so beautiful. Hurting and broken, yet so striking.

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because he hurt you.”

I clench my jaw. “Poppy,” I warn.

“He hurt me too.”

At this, I startle. “What?”

“Did…did my dad molest you?” Her bottom lip trembles.

I give her a clipped nod even though she doesn’t deserve the answer. It’s risky. She’s technically Team Beckett, not Team Pearson.

“You want to meet with him to confront him?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“And then what?”

“Destroy him.”

She winces, but doesn’t move away from me. Her eyes are sad as she looks me over as if to memorize my face. “I can’t stop you.”

“It’ll destroy you too,” I warn.

“Then you can put me back together.”

Her words give me hope that maybe I don’t have to choose. Maybe I can still get my revenge and get the girl. Would it be so fucking bad to take her as my trophy? I could shield her from whatever the press dishes out. She’d fit right in with Lucy and Katie and Rowan. The very idea of her one day at their side with her own pregnancy hormones fighting over a chocolate cake recipe has me filling with this need to possess her. To stamp my mark on her soul and make her mine. I’ve been utterly obsessed with her from the moment I was introduced to her all those years ago when she was way out of my league. When I thought Tampa’s Golden Girl would always be an image I whacked off to—never the real thing.

Yet here she is.

Spreading her legs and inviting me inside her.

Kissing the hell out of me like her life depends on it.

She loves me too. On some unspoken level, she feels the same intense way I feel about her. Mateo treated her like an arm piece. A shiny trophy to cart around. But she’s more than that to me. She always has been. For nearly a decade, she’s been the center of my revenge plan. The silver lining. The prize at the end. I knew eventually I’d fuck her and then ruin her dad. I didn’t ever count on fucking and falling for her. Certainly didn’t plan for her to fall right down the hole with me.

My mouth consumes hers as I thrust into her wet heat. I fuck her sweetly like we do sometimes and kiss her reverently. She’s mine, and no matter what happens with all this, she’ll still be mine.

Even if that means changing the plans.

Destroying him means destroying her.

And I don’t think I can do it.

Fuck.

Love changes everything.

* * *

I chose her.

Chose her over my plan to destroy him.

Some days, I can’t believe it. Me. Camden fucking Pearson. The man who has planned and planned for so damn long, threw everything away for a woman. I’m thinking with my heart and not my brain. It’s almost inconceivable. When my brain takes over and the anger surges through me, I wonder if I’ve made a mistake—if I’ve been duped.

But all it takes is her honest, loving smile first thing in the morning to remind me I chose well. Poppy may have been pretending in every aspect of her life, but not with me. With me, she gives me her real self. The fun, bubbly, happy-go-lucky girl who used to be my babysitter. And when she sees the storm brewing in my eyes, she comforts me with her touch, her body, and her words.

She’s fucking healing me.

It’s been weeks since I admitted what her father did to me. Weeks since she told me what he also did to her. The waters had been rocky, but we found balance together. Just having someone to talk to—someone who understands me and wants to help me—has been incredible.

I want to cling to my past and use it for an accelerant on my hate, but she forces me to let go. She’s a distraction. A gorgeous one at that. For years and years, I’ve let this revenge plan drive every action in my life. My past has paved the way for my future. It’s exhausting to continuously be making moves for an ultimate agenda.

She lets me rest.

I’m safe with her. To just close my eyes and live in the moment. I don’t have to think ahead or dwell in the past. I just enjoy her scent and her soft skin. I live for the sounds she makes right before she comes. Breathy and beautiful.

I’d thought Poppy was a tool to use for me to destroy others.

Turns out, she’s a tool to heal.

I should have known someone as sweet and perfect as her couldn’t be used for dark deeds. Poppy is light and laughter and love.

She’s mine.

“New Zealand?” she asks as she sips on a blue coconut and rum fruity drink she loves so much at our favorite clam restaurant.

I shake away my daze and take in her sexy appearance today. Under the bright Tampa sun, she’s this city’s golden girl. No fucking doubt about it. Her blonde hair is still wet from her shower earlier where I took her roughly and passionately from behind. A pair of my sunglasses she stole from me sit perched on top of her head, revealing her pretty blue eyes to me. Her face is bare, not a speck of makeup. The freckles on her nose peek back at me, and I smile. She looks gorgeous as hell.

“You want to go to New Zealand?” I smirk at her.

“Who doesn’t?” She grins and takes another sip of her drink. Those things get her wasted fast so I’ll have to make sure she doesn’t drink too many. Stress continues to be her captor and the perpetrator of her still-constant headaches, but she seems happier. Despite the fact that she knows her father was my abuser and has written him out of her life, she’s finding joy again.

“We’ll go to New Zealand then, baby,” I tell her as I reach for a cheesy roll. “That’s more than a weekend trip, though. Where do you want to get away for a couple days, Miss Globe Trotter?” I munch on my roll while I wait for my answer.

Her nose scrunches as she looks off behind me toward the bay. It’s something she does when she’s thinking. I’m still every bit in tune with her tells, but no longer to use them against her. Now, I study her so I can draw more smiles from her. So I can hear her laugh or talk rapidly about something she’s excited about.

While she thinks, I drag my gaze down her outfit. A bright yellow sundress that shows off all her lovely curves. It didn’t seem that long ago that she was here with me wearing a suit and sadness. All that pretending was wearing her down. Today, she’s a poster child for freedom. Sure, she has to be at the office tomorrow, but this afternoon, she’s happy and free.

“We could go to LA and visit your brother,” she muses aloud.

“I’ve already walked in on one too many threesomes,” I say with a snort. “Pass.”

She giggles. “I like Brock, but I don’t want to see his ass.”

“My ass is better,” I say, flashing her a wicked grin.

“I don’t doubt that for a second.” She sips her blue drink again. I love how her pink lips have turned purple from the drink. Later, I’ll suck that bluish-purple tongue until I turn it pink again.

“LA is scratched. Where else?” I have a break coming up at school and would like to go someplace with my girl.

My girl.

Sounds fucking awesome.

“What about New York?”

“You want to meet Grandad?” I ask, grinning.

“I mean, he sounds like a great guy. You think he’d buy me a Bugatti too?” she teases. “I want pink. Like Lucy.”

“Lucy has a Maserati.” I try not to cringe at that awful pink car.

“Depending on how much Grandad likes me, I may ask for both.” She’s just fucking with me, but she’s cute as hell doing it.

“Grandad will love you,” I assure her. “He’s a Pearson after all.”

She reaches across the table and takes my hand. We thread our fingers together. This is right and perfect. I chose wisely. With my heart. Love is a much more palatable emotion than hate. So sweet. The bitterness that usually clings to me is nothing but a fading aftertaste. Love is a flavor I’ll certainly get used to, and soon.

“Let’s visit your Grandad,” she says firmly. “I’m sure he misses you and would love to hear how well you’re doing in life.”

“College is damn near kicking my ass because my girlfriend demands all my time to go on vacations,” I tell her playfully. “You call that doing well in life?”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re the only person I know who aces all their exams and assignments without cracking a book. I studied my ass off in college and barely made it out of there with passing grades. You’re kicking college’s ass, not the other way around.”

When she starts to pull away, I tighten my grip on her fingers. “Poppy…”

Her brows pull together in that concerned, protective way she gets over me if she thinks I’m mentally struggling. I hate that she feels responsible for what her father did. It’s not her fault. “What is it?”

I grit my teeth together and look up at the sky. Clear and flawless. The present is easy and free. Because of her. I let out a sigh, ridding myself of the negative energy that sometimes brews to unhealthy levels inside me. She helps me purge it all. “Thank you.” I look back at her, pinning her with an intense stare.

“For what? I didn’t do anything.”

I pull her hand closer to me and kiss the inside of her wrist. “Thank you for being you. For choosing me.”

Releasing my hand, she stands and walks around the table to sit in my lap. Her arms wrap around me in one of her comforting hugs. I squeeze her middle, kissing her collarbone.

“I’ll always choose you,” she whispers.

I tilt my head up and stare at the beautiful woman. Mine. “Promise?”

“Always.” Her lips press to mine and she kisses me in a way that feels as though she’s sealing a vow. The little cracks in my heart are filled each time I’m with her. “You’re mine, naughty Camden Pearson. Don’t go forgetting that.”

I stare at my angel, shining brightly under the sun. All for me. A reward for an awful life endured. “I’ll never forget, baby.”

I kiss her so deeply, so intensely, she’ll never forget she’s mine too.

At one time, I thought revenge was the answer, but my revenge would destroy the one I love—and fuck, I do love her. So revenge has been deleted from the plan. The plan now resembles that of my brother Hayden’s. Love. Marriage. Babies. I want whatever I can get with Poppy Beckett. Revenge would steal my only bit of happiness, and I’ll be damned if I let that be stolen from me. The past already took so much. It fucking owes me this.

It’s a hard pill to swallow, giving it all up for her, but at the end of the day, I choke it down and drink from her. My sweet, beautiful Poppy. She’s the only medicine I need.

“Camden,” she murmurs against my lips. “I lov—”

I devour her sweet sentiments with a crushing kiss.

I know, Poppy, because I love you too.